


The Glitter Games

by SnackerJack



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Multi, poly!pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 02:17:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnackerJack/pseuds/SnackerJack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek knows one thing for an absolute certainty: he does not glitter.  {His pack has other ideas.}</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Glitter Games

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AkumaStrife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkumaStrife/gifts).



> Terribly short, cavity-inducing fluff where everyone loves everyone else and nothing hurts. {Yes, hello, I am traumatised by this show and I live [in denial](http://perianfrost.tumblr.com)}. Tis the season!

No one really knows who started it. 

Stiles says that it was Erica but that’s probably because she’s currently sitting on his chest, pinning his arms above his head with one hand and pouring glitter into his bellybutton with the other.

Scott points at Jackson and Jackson points at Scott.  Or at least that’s what Derek _thinks_ , because they’ve each got one hand on a tiny pot of pink… _something_ and haven’t quite stopped in their efforts to dump it all over each other’s heads.

Allison and Lydia are too busy tag-teaming Isaac to answer.  Isaac himself is caught between giggling helplessly as they fingerpaint their way across his skin in glitter and being entirely too pleased with being held down by two beautiful women.

Even Boyd and Danny, who are the least likely to be caught up in shenanigans {and thus Derek’s favourites}, are in on it; Danny is hunched over, both hands cupped around something that catches the light, and Boyd is draping himself all over the other’s back trying to get at it.

Derek sighs and reminds himself for the hundredth time that he chose these people as part of his pack.  He chose them, and it’s a little late to go starting over now.  “I don’t want to know.  I don’t want to know anything except how you’re going to get all this out of my carpet.”

“Good luck with that,” Lydia says, daubing a smiley face high on Isaac’s cheekbone.  “Glitter is the herpes of the craft world.  You’ll never get rid of all of it.”

“There’s nine of you,” Derek says.  “Contrary to all evidence, some of you are actually not that stupid.  You should be able to come up with something.  No presents until it’s gone.”

A chorus of protest rises, all individual struggles forgotten.

“Grinch!” Stiles shouts.

“But it’s _Christmas_!” Scott adds, looking wounded.

“ _Presents_!” Isaac says, and Derek can see the beginnings of puppy eyes.

“No,” he says.     _Be firm_.  “I want it gone.  Deal with it.”

“Oh, I’ll deal with it,” Lydia says, coming to her feet.  The rest of them follow and Derek feels the beginning of nerves despite himself.

“ _No_ ,” he repeats, raising his hands.  “Don’t even think about it.”

“Or what?”  Stiles grins.  The glitter on his face sparkles in the light of the tree.  “You’ll rip out all of our throats?”

“With my teeth,” Derek affirms, fighting the urge to step back.  He does shift his weight to the balls of his feet, and he knows the motion hasn’t gone unnoticed.  “Back. The fuck. Off.”

Danny points.  “You have something on your face.  It’s shiny.”

He raises a cautious hand, wipes at his cheekbone.  His fingertips come away clean.  “No, I don’t.”

“Not yet,” Jackson says, and they all lunge.

Derek puts up a good fight, but it’s a lost cause against five werewolves, three trained humans, and one kanima.  He goes down in about seven seconds, grunting as he hits the floor and glitter rises from the carpet in a small cloud.  Someone scrambles on top of his back to keep him put, and he’s thoroughly assaulted.  Hands run through his hair, across his forehead and face, down his arms, under his shirt.  He wriggles, thrashes, even goes so far as to flail a little, but to no avail and eventually he gives up, lets his pack smear glitter and their scents all over him.

He tries not to think about how long he’s going to have to spend scrubbing down in the shower before he’ll be able to leave the house without looking like Edward Cullen.  It’s a little harder to ignore the warm and fuzzy feeling that comes from being surrounded by pack.  Laura had done her best after the fire, but it was different when it was just two people.  There was nothing quite like the feeling of a dozen pack hands stroking along skin, even if they were grinding glitter into his pores.

Someone leaned close and he knew it was Isaac even before he heard the soft voice.  “See, you don’t mind at all.”

“Yeah,” Allison says on his other side.  “I’d go so far to say that you _like_ it.  Listen to you purr.”

He freezes in embarrassment before he realises that he hasn’t been making a sound at all, and then makes a valiant effort at disappearing into the carpet as a ripple of laughter spreads through the room.  He wriggles around until he’s flat on his back, drags his hand across the carpet and swipes a streak high across Jackson’s forehead, a mark across Scott’s neck.  He can’t quite reach Stiles, but Isaac picks up on his train of thought, abandoning Derek’s shoulder in order to tackle the other teen to the floor and leave glittering fingerprints all over pale skin.  Scott follows Isaac, runs his hands through curls and along the sharp spine.  Derek watches and thinks for a moment that Isaac is still too thin. He resolves to pick up more of the kid’s favourite food the next time he’s out, and then is distracted by a burst of warmth at his side.

Lydia’s head rests on his chest and he can smell the traces of chemicals in her shampoo and the scent of her mascara.  It mingles with the softer scent of Erica’s strawberry lip gloss as she traces arcs of silver sparkles across Lydia’s collarbone.  Her free hand draws circles on the jut of Danny’s hip; Danny himself is watching Jackson breathe, fingers sliding across defined muscles where the glitter shines and shimmers with each inhale.

Allison’s dark curls gleam with colour as she leans into Boyd, leaving bright streaks across his arms and dark shirt.  His teeth flash white in a laugh as she leaves polka dot imprints of her fingertips as she pokes him in the chest.  Boyd’s thigh rests comfortably against Derek’s, and the alpha lets them all be for a moment, revelling in the easy way they can all just _exist_ together, the sound of nine relaxed heartbeats.  _Pack_.

“We look like those vampires from that one movie,” Jackson muses eventually.

The hazy bubble of contentment pops.  “I am _not_ Edward Cullen,” Derek grumbles.

“Oh my god,” Stiles says from somewhere down by his feet.  “Oh my god, you _are_.  You brood, you stalk everybody, you lurk in dark corners—“

“You do cover the wangst aspect very well,” Lydia agrees.

“You’re overlooking the fact that he even knows who Edward Cullen _is_ ,” Isaac protests.

There’s about a dozen ways to be offended by all of this and he can’t quite pick which one to go with first, so he scrambles to his feet.  It should have been impressive, but the intimidation effect is ruined because glitter pours off of him in waves.  He points at each of them.  Then at the carpet.  “Clean.  _Now_.”

No one pays the slightest attention.

“I think Edward has a better vocabulary than him,” muses Boyd.  “More syllables.”

“They both like flashy cars.”

“And they both make stupid decisions.”

“Derek’s not a virgin though.”

“Ha! Not even close.”

Derek comes very close to throwing his hands into the air.  His frustration must show on his face, because Danny takes pity on him.  Sort of.  “Don’t worry.  You’re infinitely more attractive than Robert Pattinson.  And I’m pretty sure he actually hates his life more than you hate yours, so...”

There’s a chorus of agreement and he can feel a laugh coming on, so he gives up and drops onto the couch. “Well as long as I have that.”

Stiles sits and leans against his left side, Isaac presses against his right. Scott sits on the floor, and Stiles’s free hand works through that thick hair.  The others fill in around him, heads resting on stomachs and shoulders, legs tangled, everyone touching everyone else until they’re all folded into the pile.  The last of the irritation fades away in the face of all that contentment, and Derek allows himself to relax into the cushions.  “Merry Christmas,” he says, and can’t help but smile as his pack returns the sentiment.


End file.
